


Pride

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2018 [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intoxication, M/M, Making Out, Pride Parades, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 07:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Inspired by: {X}





	Pride

The end of a pride parade is always a somewhat somber affair. Thousands of people putting their flags away, wiping the confetti from their shoulders and descending underground to take the subway home. Oswald shifts his bag on his lap and makes certain that his pride flag is turned upside down, the pole sticking up through the zipper. He takes out wet wipes and a compact, making sure he’s successfully de-glittered and that the rainbow makeup on his face is reduced to the black around his eyes. What his mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. If she had it her way, Oswald wouldn’t look at girls _or_ boys. 

A sniffling to his left catches his eye. On the other side of the car, a boy is scrubbing at the glitter on his face, only succeeding in embedding it into his skin and fingers. Tear tracks line his face as he takes a corner of his shirt and lifts it, trying to use the cotton to make a difference in the sparkling on his face. His shirt has a smear of glitter as well now, but his face is still a lost cause. The kid is getting more frantic by the minute, pushing his glasses up into the brown curls atop his head and burying his face into his shirt, scrubbing madly. He checks his glistening refection in the window and sobs, putting his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, but he’s silent as he cries. 

Oswald doesn’t want to get involved. He wants to go home and crash and have a glass of wine with his mother. But as he looks around the car, no one else seems to have noticed the young man apart from himself, heads buried in newspapers or staring steadfastly elsewhere. He sighs. It’s not like doesn’t know how the other guy must feel. His first pride had ended with him sneaking into the bathroom of Fish’s club, avoiding everyone’s gaze and steadfastly cleaning himself up so he could go home without drawing the suspicion of his mother. Perhaps the young man before him had similar circumstances. Why else would he be so distraught? Oswald shuts his mirror and puts it back in the bag. He stands, walking back down the car and sitting next to him. The kid doesn’t notice him, which piques Oswald’s concern a little more. Guys like them needed to be aware of their surroundings at all times. Especially on a day like today, looking the way he did. It’s with this sort of solidarity in mind that he finally speaks. 

“Hey, are you alright?” The kid’s head snaps up, wide brown eyes fixating nervously on him. He reaches up for his glasses, dragging the barriers down over his eyes. 

“Right as rain,” he titters, breaking from Oswald’s gaze to stare nervously at his shoes. 

“Was this your first pride?” Oswald asks, trying to draw his attention back. The boy bites his lip, nodding his head. “It can be a little overwhelming, huh?”

“It was incredible,” the kid breathes, eyes daring to glace back at him out of the corners of his eyes. “I’ve never… I’ve never felt that way before about who I am.” Oswald smiles. There’s something nice about being able to help this young man in the aftermath, the way that no one had helped him. 

“It’s very special,” Oswald affirms. “I noticed you trying to clean up earlier, do you mind if I help?” The kid sits up straighter, eyes flicking over him. 

“You’d help me?” he asks, like he’s never gotten such an offer in his life. Oswald nods sincerely. 

“I’d be happy to. I mean, you looked pretty pathetic.” The kid smiles, ducking his head slightly. 

“I didn’t really account for the aftermath,” he admits, turning to face Oswald. He takes off his glasses, holding them in his fist as he clasps his hands delicately in his lap. Oswald pulls a wipe free, hesitating as he nears the kid’s face. 

“I’m Oswald Cobblepot,” he says. He should at least know the name of the person whose face he’s wiping off. 

“I’m Edward,” he hesitates a moment, then adds on, “Nygma.” Oswald is absolutely certain that he’d given a fake last name, but he admits it’s rather savvy of the kid. They are strangers, after all. 

“Happy pride, Edward,” he says, raising the wipe to Edward’s cheek and dragging it across. 

“Happy pride, Oswald,” he parrots in a whisper. Oswald wipes his cheek down to his jaw and has to collect another wipe, the first already covered in glitter. How on earth had he gotten so much of this stuff on him? Edward answers his unspoken question after a moment. 

“I got a little caught up in the moment and let a girl paint my face with it. I wasn’t thinking,” Edward explains. 

“It’s no surprise you felt that way. It was your first time, after all,” Oswald says. Edward cheeks heat under his fingers, and he catches the double meaning too late, clearing his throat awkwardly. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Edward says.  

“Are you in college here in the city?” he asks, wiping along Edward’s jaw. 

“I still live with my parents. That’s why I have to get this stuff off. I would have graduated early, but they—they figured out ways to make me stay. I’m going to Gotham U in the fall, and then they’ll _never_ see me again.” There’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before, hidden beneath the docile and nervous demeanor on the surface. Oswald is starting to like him.

“They’re homophobic?” Oswald asks. Edward laughs unpleasantly. 

“More than phobic. They’d _kill_ me.” He feels the weight of the wipes in his hands more strongly in the aftermath of Edward’s certainty. His intervention has been more needed than he’d first thought, it seems. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oswald says. He’s never really encountered much homophobia in Gotham, certainly no one who’d hurt their own child. Plenty of kids still ended up on the street, but it had little to do with who they liked. Plenty of people were also being murdered every day, but there were other reasons for that as well. Usually drugs, gang violence, the works. Oswald can’t pretend to understand what Edward’s going through. He hides his sexuality from his own mother because she would rather view him as her sweet, innocent boy than the man he’s becoming. Perhaps he’ll break the news to her one day, but not today. 

“How old are you?” Edward asks, watching him as he wipes the other side of Edward’s face. 

“Twenty-one,” Oswald answers, trying to be gentle as he cleans him up. The other side of his face is red and irritated from the wipes, leading him to believe that the skin of Edwards face is sensitive to the chemicals in them. He’ll be just as suspect if he returns home looking like a tomato. 

“What do you do?” Edward asks, attempting to make small talk. It’s a trickier question than he probably realizes. 

“I work at a club,” Oswald says, keeping it simple. 

“That sounds exciting,” Edward says, tilting his head. “I’d like to go clubbing someday.” Oswald clears his throat. There was no way he’d intended that as a flirtation. 

“Close your eyes,” Oswald says, Edward immediately obeying. He’s halfway through wiping them when it occurs to him the enormous trust Edward is placing in him. Frankly, it’s terrifying. He’s tender in his ministrations, happy to see that the side of Edward’s face he was kinder to is much less reddened than the first. His own face is used to the wipes, he’d forgotten how harsh they could be. “ _Now_ you’re right as rain.” 

Edward’s eyes blink open, and he smiles. Something warm courses through Oswald at being the subject of that gaze, and he feels his heart picking up in tempo.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Edward says, something like adoration in his gaze.

“What’s your stop?” Oswald asks, wanting to know how much longer he has to feel this… this _connection_.

“High Street,” Edward says, sounding regretful. It a nice neighborhood, much nicer than Oswald’s. But it’s also only two stops away. 

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Oswald says, surprising even himself with his sudden forwardness. Edward flushes and demurs.

“I couldn’t possibly—if anything, I should be buying you a coffee,” he says. 

“I insist,” Oswald says, persisting. “You can thank me by getting coffee with me.”

“Okay,” Edward says, smiling again. Oswald likes the look of it. Much better than the sniveling, pathetic display earlier. 

“Are there any good places in your area?” Oswald asks, packing away the used wipes into his bag. 

“Oh, yes. There’s a Jitters right on the corner where the subway lets off, a little local place a few blocks down, then in my neighborhood there’s—well, we probably shouldn’t go there together,” he says, looking pensive. 

“Why’s that?” Oswald asks, raising a brow. 

“Everyone knows everyone. There are people who work there that might get back to my father. I have to be careful,” Edward explains, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. It’s a little endearing. 

“That’s fine,” Oswald says, laying a hand on his shoulder. Edward glances at it but says nothing, and Oswald smiles reassuringly. He gets a small smile back in return. 

“This is my stop,” Edward says as the car pulls into the station. He stands, offering Oswald his hand. Oswald grasps it and rises, slinging his pack over one shoulder. He doesn’t relinquish Edward’s hand until they’re at the shop and he needs to pay, quickly cutting Edward off as he tries to give cash to the girl at the register. 

They sit and chat for some time about pride and Edward’s experience, then their families, their interests. Edward is going to Gotham U for forensic science, and Oswald feels a pang when he realizes he’ll probably need to lie about his own career path to this budding member of the criminal justice system. 

“So, who owns the club you work for?” Edward asks. His eyes suddenly light up. “Is it a _gay_ club?”

“Fish Mooney doesn’t discriminate,” Oswald says, sipping his coffee nervously. Not many people who aren’t in the know are familiar with her name, so perhaps—

“I’m sorry, _the_ Fish Mooney?” Edward asks, lowering his voice and leaning in. Oswald feels paralyzed. 

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Oswald says. Edward giggles, and it sounds like how sunshine feels. 

“Come on, Oz, I’m not a forensic yet. You don’t have to be like that. If you work for Miss Mooney, I know exactly what you’re involved in.” He leans in closer. “Everyone knows that place is just a front for more… illicit activities.”

“And that doesn’t concern you at all?” Oswald asks, putting his coffee down. 

“Not at all,” Edward says, smiling affably. “I thought you job was exciting before, but now? It sounds _thrilling_.” Perhaps this plain, brown-eyed boy isn’t all that he seems. Oswald smirks. 

“Would you like to see the club?” Oswald asks, playing it casual. “I can get you in.” Something about this boy makes Oswald want to _impress_ him. Edward gasps, setting his cup down. 

“Can you? I’d _love_ to.”

***

Oswald has a key for the kitchen entrance in back, letting Edward inside. It’s early, and the club doesn’t open until it’s dark. Fish will probably be preparing things, but he doubts she’ll mind his bringing a… friend. They giggle as they sneak through the kitchen, like they’re doing something terribly secretive. Oswald take Edward’s hand again and leads him into the main part of the club, Edward gasping at the decadence.       

“Oswald? Is that you?” Edward freezes, closing in on himself like he’s been caught doing something _awful_. Oswald smiles, turning to face his mentor. 

“Fish!” he exclaims. “I was just showing my friend Edward around.” Fish eyes him up and down.

“You’re bringing boys home, Oswald?” she asks knowingly. The pair of them flush, though Oswald keeps his under better control. “Well… he sure is cute.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Edward says, hands clasped in front of him. Fish smiles.

“And well mannered, too. No ma’ams though, just Miss.”

“Of course, Miss Mooney,” Edward says, ducking his head slightly. Oswald wonders if he means the unconscious deference or not. Fish steps closer, running her fingers over his cheek. 

“Tell me, Edward,” she says. “Do you like girls… or boys?”

“B-both,” Edward stutters, eyes going to Oswald. Fish turns away from him to watch Oswald as well.

“Have fun with your… _friend_ ,” she says, giving Edward one last once-over and gliding into her office. 

“And be safe!” she casts over her shoulder, disappearing inside. 

“She’s terrifying,” Edward breathes, watching her go. 

“Do you want a drink?” Oswald asks, wanting to move past the strange encounter. “It’s on me.”

“I’m eighteen,” Edward states, cocking his head. Oswald raises his brows. He’s been sharing wine with his mother since he was fifteen. But if Edward preferred not to—

“You don’t have to,” he says, “just an offer.” Something about his tone has the opposite effect on Edward. 

“No, I’d like one,” Edward says more confidently, following him to the bar. Inside of thirty minutes they’ve squished themselves into a booth side by side and are halfway through a bottle of wine. Edward is already very, _very_ tipsy. 

“Did you eat today?” Oswald asks, nudging him with his elbow. 

“No, I had coffee,” Edward says, leaning into him. 

“The coffee I got you?” Oswald asks, pouring himself more. 

“Yeah! That one,” Edward giggles. “Is that for me?”

“No way, I’m cutting you off,” Oswald says, taking a gulp.

“That’s fair,” Edward says, somehow nudging his way under Oswald’s arm and pressing against his side. Oswald holds him, wondering if this is because Edward is an affectionate drunk, or if he wants to be affectionate with him. “I wish this night could last forever.”

Edward sounds… sad. Oswald puts his wine glass on the table, peering down at him. His eyes are closed, the side of his face pressed against Oswald’s chest. They’re essential cuddling one another in this booth, out of sight of the employees readying the club for tonight. 

“Come home with me,” he says, on a whim. He doesn’t want this night to end either. 

“I can’t,” Edward says, and Oswald can sense his longing that things were otherwise. 

“I wish you could,” Oswald says, lowering his face until his nose is brushing Edward’s. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Edward’s breath is warm on his lips. 

“Can I?” Oswald asks. He’s never done anything like this before. 

“I wish you would,” Edward says, eyes flickering from Oswald’s gaze to his mouth. He presses his lips to Edward’s, too firm, hands grasping at his back. His mouth tastes like wine. Edward pushes back, too eager, teeth clicking. Oswald’s nose is skewing his glasses, and he cups Edward’s cheek, trying to figure out a better way to kiss him. Edward pulls away. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. Oswald’s face flushes. He’s only ever heard that said in _much_ less innocent contexts. 

“Alright,” he says, kissing Edward again because he _can_. Because he wants to. It’s too hard and too sloppy but Edward moans anyways, clutching him closer. It sends a thrill through Oswald to affect someone like this. He ends their kiss reluctantly, fingers combing back through Edward’s curling hair. Edward looks more flustered than Oswald feels, cheeks pink, his soft lips slightly parted and darkened from kissing.

“You’re stunning,” he blurts, mouth getting ahead of him. Edward gasps, hand coming up to his chest as if to say, ‘Who, me?’

Cheeks now blazing as least as hot as Edward’s, Oswald panics slightly. He looks around and grabs the wine bottle, mumbling, “Let’s just go.”

Edward follows him out of the club and onto the sidewalk, struggling to keep up despite his longer legs. When he does, he walks alongside Oswald. 

“You know you could get arrested for carrying alcohol around like that,” Edward says, pointing to the bottle. 

“I’d like to see them try,” he grumbles. Whether it’s his tone that makes Edward smile or his ‘fuck the police’ attitude, Edward’s grin is luminous all the same. 

“Can you hold this for me?” he asks, holding his fist out. Oswald is already holding the wine, and Edward hadn’t brought anything with him other than some cash. But he feels silly about asking what it is, still embarrassed for letting on how attracted he is to Edward. Oswald has never looked at anyone the way he looks at him, and if he’s being honest, the strange new feeling is a little uncomfortable. Or at least, it will take some getting used to. He takes a deep breath. So, this is what attraction feels like. How did people deal with this every day? Oswald is already at a breaking point.  

With no reason to deny Edward, and with no courage to ask him what he needs Oswald to hold, or if he’d like to put it in Oswald’s pack, he simply says, “Of course.”

Oswald holds his hand out, and Edward takes it into his own. 

Oh. 

That was _smooth_. 

Edward smiles at him, and the butterflies in his stomach must have hit the panic button because his hand is starting to perspire already. They’re _holding hands_. He’s holding hands with another _boy_. 

“There’s a park nearby,” Oswald says, looking for anything to draw his attention from the fact that Edward had wanted him to _hold his hand_.

“Is it nice?” Edward asks, swinging their hands between them. 

“If you don’t mind your average degenerates and people getting frisky in the bushes,” Oswald says. 

“Are you asking me because you want to get frisky in the bushes?”

“No!” Oswald sputters. “I would _never_ —I am a gentleman, Edward.” Edward chuckles in response. 

“I was only teasing. I’d love to go,” he says, squeezing Oswald’s hand. It makes Oswald’s heart skip a beat. The sun is getting low, but they find a patch of soft green grass and settle down. Oswald takes a large swing from the bottle for courage, holding it out to Edward afterwards. He smiles sadly. 

“I shouldn’t. I don’t want my father to smell it on me when I go home.”

“Right,” Oswald says, putting it down in the grass. Edward lays back, hands behind his head. 

“Not that he’d be able to detect the scent of alcohol on me over his own breath’s… _odor_ ,” Edward adds, nose wrinkling. 

“That’s good,” Oswald says, laying down beside him. He props himself up on his elbow, hovering slightly over Edward. “That means he won’t be able to smell me on you.”

“What do you—” Oswald covers Edward’s lips with his own, halting his inquiry. Edward reaches up, putting a hand on the back of Oswald’s head, eyes fluttering closed. His other hand bumps Oswald’s ribs and skirts around them, surprising Oswald as Edward pulls him down, so that Oswald is practically on top of him. He rests his other elbow next to Edward’s side, effectively caging him in. Edward’s mouth parts under his, inviting him in. Oswald tentatively licks his way past Edward’s lips. He must be doing something right, because Edward moans, clutching at his back. 

At some point Oswald had situated his leg between Edward’s, and he receives the shock of his life when Edward raises his thigh, connecting with Oswald’s groin. Oswald groans, realizing that he’s somehow gotten hard in his pants just from having his tongue in Edward’s mouth. He breaks away, the sensation of arousal with another person completely foreign to him. What if his apparent eagerness scared Edward off? He certainly doesn’t _want_ to have relations of that nature ( _yet_ , and certainly not in the grass like an animal), but his anatomy seems to be jumping the gun a little. 

“I should get home,” Edward says, saving him the trouble of an explanation. He blanches. What if Edward had felt… _it_. 

“I’m sorry,” Oswald says, panicking. He’s never liked anyone as much as he likes Edward. Has he really only known him for a few hours?

“Me too,” Edward says, puzzling him. 

“What for?” Oswald asks, scanning his face for any indication. 

“I wish I could stay out with you all night,” he says, running his fingers through Oswald’s hair. “But it’s getting dark, and I have to go home.”

“Will you be okay going home this late?” Oswald asks. He isn’t sure why he’s so concerned for Edward’s safety, only that he doesn’t want him to be hurt. Edward nods. 

“My curfew isn’t until ten. I’ll be early if I start walking now.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Oswald offers, realizing he’s still boxing Edward in. Somewhat sheepishly, he rolls off of him, grabbing the wine and getting to his feet. He offers Edward his hand, pulling him up off the grass. Edward doesn’t let go. They walk in silence as the sun begins to set, and when Edward finally halts, it’s dark out. No stars, as is typical for Gotham city, and no moon either. Too much smog. But a streetlight illuminates the pair as they pause, reluctant to take the next step. 

“So,” Oswald starts, watching Edward’s hand as he runs his thumb over the other boy’s knuckles.

“I wish you could walk me home,” Edward blurts, fingers flexing in his grip.

“Can I have your number?” Oswald says, equally as eager as his companion. 

“Give me your phone,” Edward says, holding his hand out. He types something, frowns, types some more and hands it back. “I might not be able to answer all the time. Don’t text me, just call.”

“I understand,” Oswald says. “If my mother knew how to get into my phone, I’d be the same way.” Edward smiles, shuffles his feet awkwardly. This is goodbye. 

“Well, you know where I work,” Oswald says, for lack of anything else. “Stop by any time, I—I’d love to see you again.”

“I would too,” Edward says, leaning down. He blinks slowly, and it isn’t until about half of the distance between them is gone that Oswald realizes he’s leaning in for one last kiss. It’s soft and tentative, the pair reluctant to end their embrace. Oswald touches the side of his throat, slides it back until his hand is wrapped around the nape of Edward’s neck, pulling him down. Edward wraps his arms around Oswald’s shoulders, leans into him. He puts his other arm around Edward’s waist to pull him closer, tighter, anything but letting go. Edward’s hands slide down his chest, his palms warm through Oswald’s t-shirt. He pulls back, as if he needed to leverage himself away by pushing off of Oswald. He clears his throat, eyes fluttering open and then focusing on the ground. He takes his hands off of Oswald. 

“Goodbye, Oswald,” he says, shyly glancing back up at him. 

“I’ll see you around, Edward Nygma,” Oswald says, winking at him. Edward blushes and books it down the street, glancing back halfway down the block and waving at him. Oswald waves in response, smiling as he does. A far as first dates go, he thinks he’s done a pretty decent job. Hopefully, Edward will want a second. He takes out his phone, scrolling to find Edward’s name. 

E. Nygma.

Well, Oswald certainly won’t mind peeling the layers off of this particular mystery. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! This fic means a lot to me and I hope it meant even a little to you <3


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